


Walk the Line

by thecouchsofa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mirror of Erised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13436835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecouchsofa/pseuds/thecouchsofa
Summary: While cleaning the Room of Requirement as part of his war reparations, Draco comes across an old mirror that keeps showing him images of himself and Harry holding hands. Draco doesn’t know what it is, but Harry seems to know a little more than he’s sharing.





	Walk the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Draco has some anxiety issues in this and is prone to panic attacks, so approach with caution if this may be triggering for you. If you need more details before reading, I’ll be happy to provide them. There’s also one instance of unintentional self-harm, but it’s very brief.
> 
> The song at the beginning is an excerpt from ‘When You Were Young’ by The Killers.

_You sit there in your heartache_

_Waiting on some beautiful boy to_

_To save you from your old ways_

_You play forgiveness_

_Watch it now, here he comes_

 

Draco first notices it halfway into his third week cleaning the Room of Requirement, ash and dirt covering his hands and streaking his face, rendering his clothes unwearable even after casting a dozen _Scourgify’s_ on the stained material _._ Cleaning spells haven’t been able to make even a dent in the thick black mess that coats every inch of the room, so Draco’s been having to get down on his hands and knees and _scrub_ like some kind of bloody Squib. It’s downright degrading, but he’s sure that’s exactly what the Ministry intended when they’d included the task as part of his personal reparations for the war. Sometimes he dreamed about the various members of the Wizengamot laughing together over goblets of elf wine as they pictured the Malfoy heir on his knees scrubbing the awful memories out of the walls of the Room.

More often than that he has nightmares about the Room itself, about watching Crabbe fall into the flames of his own Fiendfyre, about standing in the dirty room and having the mass of soot and dust and ash turn sentient and crawl along his skin, up his arms and into his mouth as he screams.

He has panic attacks sometimes, when he’s standing in the room before he can properly get his replacement wand to cast a _Lumos Maxima_ sufficient enough to break through the grime and light the dark space. As he stands there in the dark he swears he can hear Crabbe screaming, hear the sounds of the Vanishing Cabinet clicking open, the cackling laughs of his insane aunt trickling towards him as they dance and twirl through the stacks of half-burnt objects the Room refuses to let go of.

He accidentally mentioned the panic attacks to Greg one night, delirious with lack of sleep after a nightmare that had woken them both up in the early hours of the morning. Greg had sat with him amongst the sweat dampened sheets as Draco fought to catch his breath, unable to stop himself from nattering on and on about his nightmares and the Room in one long stream of breath, as if the magical signatures of the space had finally invaded his brain and left him unable to control his speech. Greg had just rubbed his back and nodded sleepily, before telling Draco about some of the customers that he had to serve on the weekends when he went to his job at one of the pubs in Hogsmeade. The job was part of Greg’s own reparations, though he hadn’t even been a Death Eater himself, for Merlin’s sake. But the Wizengamot had been practically frothing at the mouth when they’d finished with the actual Death Eater trials and had started in on their descendants, aiming to ‘cleanse them of their parent’s evils’ or some other utter bollocks.

What the nine year old daughter of Boyce, a low ranking Death Eater who had been shit scared of Voldemort, from what Draco had seen, could need to be cleansed of was anybody’s guess. But that certainly hadn’t stopped the Wizengamot from removing her from her aunt’s care and sentencing her to a year of assisting with some kind of sorting of objects within the Ministry. Draco dreamt about her sometimes, too. She’d had her trial directly before his own, dragged screaming and sobbing out of the room past him as she pleaded for them not to take her from her aunt, an old woman who looked like the Auror grasping her arm could knock her over with the flick of a finger.

It was the sight of that girl that had dragged every last inch of hope out of Draco. After all, if they’d sentenced a bloody _nine year old_ to reparations, then what chance did _he_ have? He shouldn’t have even been trialled with the rest of the descendants; something the _Prophet_ , as well as the general wizarding populace, had made _extremely_ clear.

It had been Potter, of course. Potter was the only reason he was being treated as though he hadn’t played an active role in the war. This was according to Granger, anyway. When she’d replied to Draco’s long and rambling owl, she’d been concise and to the point, offering her forgiveness and speaking in vague terms about their classmates, detailing their wellbeing’s, and practically making small talk. Draco hadn’t asked about their peers, but he’d wondered. Somehow she’d known that.

Potter had been there, at Draco’s trial. He’d been sitting in the stands, just watching. His gaze was hard, and at first Draco thought that Granger had been mistaken, that Potter hadn’t been championing for leniency on his behalf, that he actually wanted Draco to see the inside of a cell. As soon as the proceedings started Potter had made it clear that his warning looks were for the Wizengamot members themselves, rather than for Draco.

When an older man, who Draco was certain he’d seen in the papers recently, read out his list of charges and asked him to explain his actions, Draco had turned to Potter. Potter was looking at him, but his face softened slightly when Draco glanced back. He’d given Draco a small nod, and Draco had turned to plead his case, citing his extreme lack of want to carry out the tasks, and how only did so because he and his family were being threatened. He spoke about his age and his close proximity to Voldemort whenever he wasn’t at school, how he’d been scared to ever be alone with him lest he decide he’d grown bored and wanted some new entertainment. He’d spoken for a while, letting everything spill out of him in waves like he’d never been able to before.

When he finally stopped to catch his breath, the shallow rise and fall of his chest making him feel lightheaded, the room was quiet. The Wizengamot were all watching him, but their eyes were fixed on his forearm, where his Mark was visible. Draco hadn’t noticed, but he’d been scratching at it while he’d been talking, dark red lines marring the black tar that he was unable to pry off of his forearm. Small drops of blood were running in rivulets down his skin and dripping onto the floor, his fingers and nails stained with his own blood. As they all watched, the rips in his skin sealed up, covering themselves with the shape of the tattoo that ran so much deeper than his skin.

It was after that that the Wizengamot read Draco his list of reparations. He was to finish out his final year at Hogwarts, receiving nothing less than an E in his N.E.W.T.s, taking Muggle Studies as one of his subjects. He was to pay a fine that he barely even blinked at, and was tasked with clearing and cleaning the Room of Requirement, so it could be assessed for further usage.

Draco had almost thrown up right there when they’d read the list out, because that was _nothing_. Thoughts other children whose whole lives had been torn apart invaded his mind, and he had to dig his nails through the skin of his palms to avoid hyperventilating. Did Potter’s word really count for _that much_? Because Draco was the only child with the Mark marring his forearm. He was the only one who should actually have been sentenced to anything, yet they gave him _this_.

So, there he was, standing in the dimly lit Room during his third week back at Hogwarts, waiting for his breathing to return to normal as he stared into the dark abyss of the cavernous space. He didn’t want to close his eyes, for fear that when he opened them the ghosts of the dead would be standing before him. Sometimes he couldn’t help himself, but they were never there. Not in physically front of him, anyway.

He was walking amongst the stacks of objects, attempting to Vanish anything small enough that the Room might accept the spell, when he saw it.

The mirror was quite large, with ornate edges and a carving in a language he couldn’t read spelled out around the edges. Draco ran his finger along the words, feeling the bumps of the strange letters against his fingertip. He almost walked away, knowing the Room would never let him Vanish an object as big as the mirror, when a flash of movement caught his eye. Draco stood painfully still, ears straining to listen for any sounds around him. He glanced back at the mirror out of the corner of his eye, and saw a slight movement again. Draco gripped his wand tightly, praying that _this time_ it would work correctly, that it wouldn’t fail him when he truly needed it. He turned suddenly, wand raised in preparation to fire off a hex as soon as he laid eyes on the threat, but there was nothing there. Only dimly lit stacks of a myriad of objects stretched as far as Draco’s _Lumos_ carried. He peered into the darkness, but nothing showed itself. There were no sounds in the Room, the darkness and memories that had sunk into the walls of the castle hanging heavy like a cloud around Draco’s senses.

He turned back to the mirror and stepped in front of it, watching as the surface shimmered slightly. As he watched, a figure stepped closer to his mirror counterpart, wrapping their fingers around Draco’s. Draco glanced down at his own hand to find that it was now open, as if he had instinctively reached for the figure in the mirror as his mirrored image did.

Draco cancelled his _Lumos_ that hung further across the room, and cast one in front of himself to light the mirror. It was Potter that stood next to him, grasping his hand and smiling.

Draco peered at the image of himself and Potter, taking great care not to actually touch the glass, lest he be dragged into the mirror as some magical mirrors were wont to do. Potter looked the same as he had that morning, hair askew as if it had never seen a comb in its life, shirt untucked and robes in their perpetual state of minor disarray. Draco frowned slightly, watching Potter’s mirror form. He wasn’t moving much, only swaying slightly and squeezing mirror-Draco’s fingers every so often.

Draco sighed, and stepped away. The mirror was magical, obviously. Maybe someone had charmed it as a joke, knowing Draco was tasked with cleaning the room and hoping that he was – what – _scared_ of Potter, or some bollocks. The thought wasn’t a farfetched one; his peers hadn’t exactly been the most welcoming that year. it didn’t helped that he and Greg were the only Slytherins from their year to return, the rest either having fled the country, or hadn’t wanted to finish out their education amongst their classmates who ranged from disgruntled at their presence, to majorly pissed off that they’d escaped a sentence in Azkaban.

Draco cast a simple _Finite_ at the mirror, having to hold his breath as he cancelled his _Lumos_ momentarily to do it. He didn’t glance back at the mirror as he walked back to his buckets so he continue scrubbing at the mess that never seemed to shift.

/-/

Draco doesn’t go back to the area of the Room the mirror sits in for a few weeks, attempting to clear out the opposite corner first. It hadn’t been an easy task, but a good corner of the Room had finally been scrubbed clear of ash and dust, the floor and most of the wall gleaming. Draco had started to levitate the bigger objects out into the hall before Vanishing them, creating more space in the process. It certainly wasn’t easy work, made even harder by his malfunctioning wand.

He’d had sanctions put on his wand for the year he was to stay at Hogwarts as well, limiting his magic to a certain amount. That meant that he had to concentrate bloody hard to levitate anything bigger than his fist, and it tired him out insanely fast.

After levitating and Vanishing a number of chairs and a wardrobe, Draco went in search of a large couch he’d seen further back in the Room to rest on. He didn’t find the couch, but he found the mirror. It was in the same spot as it had been the last time he found it, glass reflecting the light of his _Lumos_ back onto him.

Draco stepped in front of it again, and was mildly surprised to see Potter standing there, fingers reaching for Draco’s once again. Draco stayed to watch after he cast a _Finite_ that time, but it did nothing. Potter stayed smiling out at Draco from inside the glass, glancing between him and the mirror version of Draco with a soft look on his face. It wasn’t a look Draco had ever seen directed at him by Potter, and probably never would. Despite Potter’s apparent desire to keep Draco out of Azkaban, they weren’t even in the same realm as being close enough to look at each other that way, without consequence or ulterior motives. In fact, now that Draco’s crimes were public, there was a part of his mind that whispered to him that _no one_ was ever likely to look at him that way, least of all Potter.

It had to have been one of the eighth years that charmed the mirror, then. None of the other students would have been able to do it, and of the Professors that might have the wont to take time out of their schedules to harass Draco, all would put more effort into the trickery than Draco could see there. They’d put a Boggart in a cupboard, or Transfigure a bird into a Dementor and make it chase him, not charm an image of Potter to appear in a secluded mirror whenever Draco stepped in front of it.

Draco supposed it was possible that Potter himself had done it, maybe to remind Draco that the only reason he was cleaning the Room and not in Azkaban was because of Potter himself. But Draco couldn’t really see Potter going through with something that. He’d been oddly pleasant to Draco since the year had started, walking with him to meals and back so that he wouldn’t ‘accidentally’ catch a spell that went wide. He’d even invited him to hang out in the common room with him and his friends, much to the obvious distaste of said friends. Bar Granger, that was. She’d been quite pleasant to him all year, actually. Draco supposed that putting your pride away and spilling your deepest apologies into a letter to one of your childhood rivals would do that.

Draco cast a few errant spells at the mirror, not really expecting them to work. Nothing appeared to, all of the spells fizzling out when they hit the surface of the mirror. Draco had half been expecting the mirror to suck the spells in and spit them back out at him with force, so he’d held back with his hexes. If he accidentally sent an Entrail-Expelling Curse at the mirror and had it rebound back onto him, then there was no doubt in his mind that he’d be left there to suffer by his peers, unless his calls for help were heard by Granger, or a bunch of Hufflepuffs. Potter would probably also come to his rescue, but that’d be because saving people was basically his bloody moniker at that point, not because he actually cared for Draco.

Draco glared at the mirror, a little angry that it was basically showcasing his apparent lack of magical ability thanks to his stunted wand, and stormed off back to the front of the room, _Lumos_ high over his head.

/-/

Draco wasn’t sure whether to mention the mirror to Potter or not, but figured he’d probably have a better idea about it than Draco would, having spent so much time in the Room during their younger years. Draco assumed he’d at least looked around a bit while he’d been holding his little club in there; Potter seemed the type to. Draco hadn’t, when he’d been fixing the Cabinet in sixth year. He’d practically run out of the Room as soon as he’d been able, the magic within the walls already darkening in his mind, knowing what was to come.

The next time he went back to the Room, Draco made a beeline for the mirror, sitting in front of it and watching as mirror-Potter sat down next to him, reaching for his hand once again. Mirror-Draco smiled and leaned in towards him, and Draco had to stop himself from following suit, realizing he’d been leaning to the side into the empty air beside him. He spoke to the mirror that time, asking it if it could hear him. It must not have been able to, because there was no response. He thanked mirror-Potter that day, for saving him. Though Draco had sent a letter to Granger and a few of his other classmates after the war, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say anything to Potter. He wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was because there was arguably more to thank Potter for than Granger, or maybe it was his bloody pride stopping him again. Either way, he just hadn’t.

The mirror version of Potter was different, though. He couldn’t hear Draco, couldn’t smirk at him or laugh in his face when he cried into his hands about the awful things that he’d done, things he sometimes had to whisper to himself that he’d been _forced_ to do, wand at his throat or not. He sat there for a long time, just talking. He wasn’t sure what exactly he should thank Potter for since there’d been _so much_ , so he didn’t elaborate; preferring to insert blanket apologetic statements amidst the stories he couldn’t stop falling from his lips. Mirror-Potter didn’t ask him to explain anything or offer an opinion, just smiled fondly out from the mirror at Draco.

It was a Wednesday the day Draco pulled Potter aside in the common room to ask him about the mirror. He’d watched him and his friends for a while, sneaking glances at them over the top of his book whenever he got the chance. He didn’t particularly want to approach Potter when he was in a group, but he was hardly ever without one. The judging stares of Potter’s friends made for a successful deterrent most of the time; Draco hated feeling their eyes on him, full of malice as they glared. It made his stomach turn, so he didn’t ever try.

He waited until it was late and everyone was heading off to bed, yawning at stretching their arms above their heads. Draco waited until it was only Granger and Longbottom sitting with Potter, going over some pieces of parchment laid out in front of them. A shiver of dread ran through Draco as he watched, though he realistically knew they were probably discussing points for the Transfiguration essay due next Tuesday. Still, his heart beat a little faster as he closed his book and walked up to them, waiting until Granger glanced up and smiled at him.

“Hullo, Draco. Did you want to study with us?” her smile was soothing, but it didn’t do much to ease Draco’s nerves.

“I was hoping to speak with Potter – uh, Harry – actually,” Draco said, glancing Potter’s way. He was watching him, face curious.

“Yeah, sure,” Potter said. “Did you, uh, want me to…” he trailed off and nodded over at the chair that Draco had previously been occupying across the room.

“I’m not sure,” Draco said after a moment.

Potter nodded and got up anyway, scooting around Longbottom to walk past Draco. Draco followed him, standing in front of the chair when Potter went to stand behind it, leaning against its high back.

“Nobody’s hexing you again, are they?” Potter asked quietly, glancing over at Granger and Longbottom to make sure they hadn’t been overheard.

“No,” Draco said, frowning. He _hated_ it that Potter had been the one to find him after some fourth year Gryffindors had decided to try their luck during the first week. “I was wondering if you’d been down to the Room recently. The Room of Requirement?”

“No,” Potter said, shaking his head. “That’s where you’re doing your reparations, right? Has something happened?”

“Nothing’s happened,” Draco replied. “I just thought you might’ve charmed something down there, is all.”

“Not that I know of,” Potter said. He smiled at Draco, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Has it gone a bit mental again? It did that a few times back in fifth year, but I thought it wasn’t working at all anymore?”

“It’s not. There’s a mirror,” Draco said, brow furrowing as he explained. “I keep seeing you in it, so I thought someone might have charmed it to do that. My mistake.”

“A mirror?” Potter asked. “What kind? Is it dangerous?”

“Uh, it’s big,” Draco said, glancing away and back to Potter. “Looks a little out of date. There’s some carvings around the edge, but I can’t read them. That’s about it, I suppose. It doesn’t _seem_ dangerous, but who am I to judge that?” Draco gave a harsh laugh, staring at the floor.

Potter didn’t say anything for a moment, just blinked at Draco with wide eyes. “And you keep seeing me in the mirror?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come and have a look at it next time you go there?” Potter asked. “I think it sounds familiar, but I’d like to check. I’m sure I’m mistaken.”

“I’ll be going there tomorrow afternoon after Muggle Studies,” Draco said. “You could meet me there? You need a key to get in now, so you’ll have to wait outside.”

“Alright,” Potter said. He smiled again, but it was different this time, hints of something that Draco couldn’t identify bleeding through. It better not have been pity. Draco would rather hex his own eyes shut than take pity from Potter.

/-/

Draco half expected Potter not to show up the next day, but there he was, leaning against the wall opposite the entrance to the Room, fingers tapping on his thigh in an annoyingly fast rhythm.

“Ready, Potter?” Draco asked, twirling to key around his finger. “Sorry – _Harry_.”

“It’s fine. Old habits die hard,” Potter said with a crooked smile. He pushed off the wall to stand next to Draco, frowning at the wall. “Is it bad in there?” he asked, a hint of something that might have been fear creeping into his voice.

Draco swallowed heavily, not knowing what to say. ‘Yes’ didn’t quite cover it. His silence seemed to be enough, because Potter just nodded once and stepped a little closer to him.

Draco unlocked the door, holding his wand aloft to cast the _Lumos_ that would light their way. He silently pleaded with his hand not to shake, but it was futile. There was no way Potter hadn’t seen. Draco was grateful that he didn’t mention it, only casting his own _Lumos_ to assist Draco’s.

“So, where is it?” Potter asked once they had stepped into the Room, door closing heavily behind them before melding into the wall.

“Down this way,” Draco said after a beat, striding down the row far more confidently than he felt. He could hear Potter’s footsteps following him, and it eased his nerves a little to have someone else with him, another _Lumos_ breaking through the dark that hung heavy like rainclouds. Maybe some twisted part of him was just relieved that it was Potter.

“Here,” Draco said once they’d reached the mirror, gesturing with his wand towards it.

“This is it?” Potter asked, glancing back at him.

Draco nodded, stepping in front of the mirror.

“What do you see?” Potter asked, slightly breathless. Draco hoped he wasn’t having a panic attack. He didn’t think he could deal with that.

“I see what I usually do; myself, and then you as well. It’s not like the you that’s here, the one in the mirror is dressed a little different,” Draco said. He ran a finger over the carvings on the edge of the mirror, before turning to glance at Potter.

“Are you sure?” Potter said, watching Draco with wide eyes. “You’re not pulling my leg?”

“Why would I joke about something as idiotic as seeing you in a mirror, Potter?” Draco asked. “I can assure you I have better things to do with my time. If I wanted to waste yours then I’d think up a host of more entertaining and embarrassing ways to do it.” He turned back to the mirror with a huff.

“What are we doing?” Potter asked, voice still slightly breathless. “In the mirror, I mean?” He hadn’t stepped in front of the mirror himself yet, instead standing off to the side and watching Draco look into it.

“Um,” Draco said, watching their mirror counterparts. They were smiling at each other, hands clasped together like usual. “We’re not moving much. Usually we’re just holding hands.”

He turned to Potter to see him staring at Draco, mouth slightly open. He looked away sheepishly when Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry,” he said, shuffling his feet.

“Are you going to have a look?” Draco asked, stepping aside. “If it’s charmed then it might be different for you.”

“Probably,” Potter said, but he sounded uncertain.

Draco watched as Potter straightened his shoulders and stepped in front of the mirror, mouth dropping open again as he looked.

“I don’t see anything anymore,” Draco said, peeking around to look. “It just looks like a mirror to me now. What do you see?”

Potter glanced at him wide eyed, before quickly looking away.

“It’s a little unnerving, I know,” Draco said. “This whole bloody Room’s a little unnerving now, to be honest.”

“It’s fine,” Potter said, slowly. He stepped away from the mirror, glancing back over his shoulder before walking off to the side, watching Draco.

“Do you know what it is?” Draco asked.

“Don’t have the faintest,” Potter replied after a moment of silence.

“Hopefully it’s harmless,” Draco said, shrugging.

Potter nodded, and they walked back to the front of the Room, Potter glancing back towards the mirror every few moments.

/-/

Draco doesn’t see Potter for a few days after that. At first he’s a little anxious that Potter’s deliberately avoiding him, that maybe he’d said something when they were in the Room to make Potter dislike him all over again. Draco didn’t want that to happen; he’d been enjoying the easy truce they’d come to after the war. The lack of antagonism from Potter had likely gone a long way in regards to the overall lack of retaliation against Draco that year. Potter was being almost _kind_ to him, so the majority of the students and teachers had toned down their dislike, preferring to flat out ignore him rather than hex him in the hallways. All it would take was a word from Potter and Draco would have to contend with avoiding almost everyone, rather than just the few errant groups of younger Gryffindors that seemed to have a lust for vigilantism.

Draco was on his hands and knees scrubbing at a patch of floor in the Room when there was a rhythmic booming sound that appeared to be coming from where the door would exist if it could still be summoned without the key that sat in Draco’s pocket. Draco frowned and stood on unsteady legs, hoping it wasn’t the Room finally deciding to do him in.

When he unlocked the door and opened it, Potter was standing there. He looked even more dishevelled than usual, like he hadn’t had nearly enough sleep, purple bags hanging heavy under his eyes.

“Draco,” Potter said quickly.

“Harry?” Draco replied, the word sounding more like a question.

“Could I come in?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “If you want. It’s not the nicest place to be, mind you.”

Potter shrugged, so Draco stepped aside to let him in.

“What brings you to my humble abode?” Draco asked, rubbing his hands on the legs of the pants he wore when cleaning. It wasn’t enough to erase the blackness from his fingers; they always got stained when he scrubbed the floors. Potter was staring at them, a furrow between his brows.

“Why don’t you use a _Scourgify_?” he asked, glancing over at the buckets.

“Doesn’t work,” Draco said. “Did you come here to discuss Muggle cleaning techniques with me, or was there something you wanted?”

“Can I see the mirror?” Potter asked.

Draco huffed a laugh. “You don’t need my permission, Potter. _Harry_. It’s not like the Room’s mine.”

“Right,” Potter said, nodding. “Could you show me where it is again?”

Draco rolled his eyes, but waved Potter over, setting off down a row that his meticulous cleaning hadn’t yet touched.

“I think I’ve figured out why I’m seeing us in it,” Draco said as they walked.

“Oh?”

“I think it’s locked onto your magical signature,” Draco explained. “You were one of the people here when it was destroyed, so perhaps it held on to part of you to try and save itself.”

“Maybe,” Potter said, coming to a stop in front of the mirror. “Could you stand in front of it for me?” Draco raised a quizzical eyebrow, but did so when Potter muttered “please?”

“What are you wanting me to do?” Draco asked, glancing away from mirror-his’s fingers entwined with mirror-Potter’s.

“What do you see?” Potter asked, eyes fixed on Draco’s face intently.

“The same as last time,” Draco said. “Honestly, Harry—“

“So, us? Are we still holding hands?”

“We are, and I still don’t know why it would show me that. Do you think it might be because we rode out on your broom together?” Draco closed his eyes as he tried to push all thoughts of that awful broom ride from his mind. If he let it dig its claws in he’d never get it out again. He still hadn’t managed to banish it completely.

“Maybe,” Potter said. When Draco’s eyes snapped open he gently tugged Draco by the shoulder, arranging him just out of view of the mirror, before stepping in front of it himself. “Fuck,” he muttered, staring into the mirror.

“What is it?” Draco asked.

“It’s us,” Potter said. “I don’t…”

“It’ll be the magical signatures, like I said before,” Draco said. “I don’t think you need to worry about it. I’ve looked in it a few times and nothing’s happened to me, in or out of the Room.”

“Right,” Potter said. His face looked a little pale. “Right, I shouldn’t worry about it.”

“Are you alright, Harry?”

“Fine,” Potter replied. “I need to go.”

And he rushed off back towards the door. The Room must have opened to let him out, because he didn’t need Draco’s key.

/-/

Draco heard about it the next day, that the juicy gossip of the week was that the ‘extended break’ Potter and Ginny Weasley were taking had become permanent. Draco had honestly forgotten they were still together, not having seen them around each other for the entire time they’d been at school. He supposed Potter was ready to go off and take his pick of the wizarding populace; after all, who wouldn’t want to suck the Saviour’s cock? Aside from Draco, obviously.

Potter didn’t look heartbroken exactly, but he did look _something_. Draco was again left feeling like he might’ve said something wrong while they’d been in the Room. Potter kept looking at him, glancing away whenever Draco turned to look back. His face was a constant mask of confusion and something Draco couldn’t place, his face changing whenever he looked Draco’s way. Draco didn’t really care, per se; he’d long since become immune to Potter’s oddities when it came watching him, though it did feel a little too sixth year for his liking. He hoped Potter wasn’t about to start stalking him through the corridors again.

After a few days of Potter’s newfound interest in him, Draco’s feelings on the matter ticked over from mild confusion, into slightly-more-than-mild annoyance. After Potions one afternoon he marched up to Potter to ask whether there was something stuck to his face, or whether Potter was simply attempting to memorize his features for some curious reason. He almost mentioned sixth year, but didn’t quite want to bring it up. It still seemed a little too soon.

“Sit with us at dinner,” Potter blurted out, ignoring the questioning looks Dean Thomas and Longbottom shot him. Draco was even more confused than Potter’s friends apparently were. Potter had finally gone mental.

“We sit at one table, Harry. Technically I’m always sitting with you at dinner,” Draco replied.

“You know what I mean,” Potter said, looking down at his shoes. “Will you?”

“Uh, ok?” Draco said, one eyebrow raised. He waited for the other shoe to drop, for Potter and his friends to laugh in his face about how they were joking, asking why they’d ever want to sit with someone like Draco.

But Potter didn’t do that. Instead he smiled widely, sending Draco a pleased look.

“Right, that’s, uh, all I wanted to ask,” Potter said, before grabbing Thomas’ arm and pulling him out of the classroom.

Draco frowned at the empty air and shrugged, putting it down to one of Potter’s many quirks.

Potter, true to his word, apparently _did_ really want Draco to sit with him at dinner. So much that he’d made Finnegan move down a seat when Draco walked up to the table, shooting Potter a questioning look. Potter had smiled at him again as he took a seat, cheeks going a bit red.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him and asked him to pass the peas.

Everyone else at the table looked confused, bar Granger, who shot him a comforting smile over the chicken and potatoes.

/-/

“Can I help?”

Draco jumped a foot in the air when he heard Potter’s voice as he stepped through the doorway into the Room one afternoon.

“ _Merlin_ , Potter,” Draco gasped, clutching his chest.

“Harry,” Potter corrected with a lopsided smile. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have expected you would hear me walk up. You looked like you were concentrating pretty hard.”

“You almost gave me a bloody heart attack,” Draco cried, frowning at Potter.

“So can I?”

“Can you _what_?”

“Can I help you clean the Room?”

Draco stared at him, dumbfounded. “You want to clean the Room?”

“No, I want to help _you_ clean the Room,” Potter said. “I asked the house elves for an extra bucket and sponge so we don’t have to share.”

“What are you bleeding on about?” Draco cried. “You can’t tell me you actually want to scrub the floors in that awful room? You’re remembering that cleaning spells don’t take, yeah?”

“I don’t particularly want to scrub the floors, no,” Potter said, moving closer to the doorway Draco was blocking. “But I’d like to help _you,_ if you’ll let me.”

“Uh, alright, I suppose,” Draco said after a moment. “I’m warning you though, it’s quite possibly the least fun job in the castle.”

“Yesterday I watched Hagrid shovel dung bigger than most of the first years,” Potter replied, smiling. “I’ll take my chances with you.”

“Come on then,” Draco sighed, moving to the side to let Potter through the door.

He’d been so distracted that he hadn’t gotten a _Lumos_ ready before the door banged shut, the sound startling him enough to make him drop his wand.

“Oh fuck,” Draco muttered, dropping to his knees and fumbling around. His fingers were shaking too much for him to properly feel anything, and his chest started to tighten, breath becoming short. He could feel the Room pressing in one him, the ash and soot waiting to choke him in the darkness.

Draco screamed when Potter cast a _Lumos_ , his face close to Draco’s as he gripped his shoulder.

“Shit, Draco,” Potter said. Draco could barely hear him over the whooshing sound in his own ears. “Jesus,” Potter muttered, sinking to his knees next to Draco and widening the beam of light until it stretched above their heads, properly illuminating the nearby space.

Draco’s hands dug into his knees as he fought to catch his breath, eyes watering from the lack of oxygen. Potter sat with him, a hand on his shoulder as Draco slowed his breathing.

“I hate this fucking room,” Draco laughed wetly, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Right, shall we?”

“Draco,” Potter said, standing up when Draco did. “Are you—“

“We’ve got work to do,” Draco said. “Come on, the Room won’t clean itself. Merlin knows I’ve tried asking it to.”

Potter offered him a small smile, concern written all over his features. He didn’t say any more, simply following Draco to where he’d last left off, listening intently as Draco described what he’d found to be the best method of removing the stains from the floor.

They cleaned for hours in relative silence, Potter refusing to leave Draco’s side as they scrubbed, bumping their elbows together on particularly rigorous motions. It was nice, siting in comfortable silence as they worked. Draco hadn’t had that with anyone before. Even Greg resented long silences, preferring to fill them with inane chatter, particularly since the war. Draco suspected that he too heard the screams of the dying whenever there was silence, so he allowed Greg to chatter on without protesting.

Potter came back the next day as well, this time wearing awful stained ripped jeans and a top with holes in the hem. Draco had stared at him in horror, but Potter had laughed and said he was better prepared for the mess this time. He wasn’t wrong, and seeing the already awful clothing become stained and worn filled Draco with far less dread than it did knowing he was ruining his own nice button up’s.

“Why do you even still have those ghastly things?” Draco said, gesturing to Potter’s outfit with a blackened sponge.

“For exactly these kinds of situations,” Potter replied, dipping his sponge into the bucket next to him.

“You keep ratty old Muggle clothes on the off chance you’d be scrubbing the floor of the Room of Requirement with your childhood enemy?”

“No, but for gardening and painting and the like. And you’re not, you know,” Potter had stopped and was watching him now. “You’re not my enemy. We’re friends now, right?” Potter’s glance was so hopeful, his smile so soft that Draco couldn’t even conjure up a retort to snap back with.

“Yes,” he said softly, eyes focused on the black water he was ringing out of his sponge over the bucket. “I think we are.”

“Good,” Potter said, smiling a beat longer, before returning to his work.

Potter didn’t ask Draco, but the next day when they came to the Room, he brought another pair of ratty jeans and a slightly stained shirt for Draco to wear. Draco had looked at him like he was mad, but put them on anyway, eager to salvage his own, much nicer clothing. After he’d changed, Potter had kept _looking_ at him when he thought Draco wasn’t watching, like he couldn’t get over the sight of Draco in his ratty old clothes. It was a little odd for Draco at first, but the clothes served their purpose, and they were quite comfy, really. They also smelt a little like Potter, and it comforted him when the light of the _Lumos_ didn’t quite reach where he was looking. Potter had told him he could keep the clothes to use the next time. Although Draco had protested a little, citing the awful condition they were in, he accepted them, smiling when the worn material of the shirt brushed his fingers in the pocket of his robes as he walked back to the dorms with stains still on his hands.

Potter didn’t ask to see the mirror again, and Draco didn’t bring it up. He expected that their mirror selves would continue to be there as long as the two of them stayed in the Room, filling it with their magic whenever they casted. It seemed to brighten the space, pushing back the overwhelming darkness whenever they filled it with their combined light. Draco expected that was likely just the presence of Potter making him feel less afraid of the Room, but he appreciated it all the same.

After their agreement that they’d developed into _friends_ – Merlin, Draco could feel his eleven year old self screaming with joy – Potter had renewed his interest in having Draco sit with him at meal times and in the common room in the evenings. Draco often declined, feelings the stares of the rest of the eighth years hanging heavy whenever he approached. Potter seemed to realize this, so he changed his tactics and started coming to Draco instead, effectively eliminating the oppressive nature of the disapproval of their peers.

Draco and Greg had been chatting about some kind of Muggle inspired meat dish the pub Greg worked at had started selling, when Potter plonked himself down on the bench next to Draco, sitting in the perpetual space between the two remaining Slytherins and the rest of the eighth years that nobody else had attempted to cross all year.

“Draco, Greg,” Potter nodded. “Is the beef good? I haven’t had a chance to try it yet.”

There was a beat of silence in which the whole table seemed to hold its breath, staring at Potter. Greg was the one who broke the silence.

“Yeah, it’s alright. Looks a little bit like this Muggle dish Draco and I were just talking about.”

“Muggle dish?” Potter asked, glancing at Draco as he reached up to put meat on his plate.

“At the pub where Greg works,” Draco elaborated. “He’s very excited about it.”

“It’s bloody brilliant,” Greg cried, gesturing wildly with his fork as he smiled. “It’s quite possibly the best thing Muggles ever invented.”

Potter chatted with Greg, asking questions and laughing at his jokes as they all ate. Draco kept sneaking glances at Potter, wondering what the hell was going on, but Potter seemed to be genuinely enjoying his time sitting with Greg and Draco. Draco watched as he threw his head back in laughter as Greg regaled one of his favourite stories about a confused customer. Potter’s face was lit up in amusement, his smile stretching across his face, and for the first time since before the war had stripped Draco bare, gutting him of all his pleasant emotions, he felt the stirring of something. It called him back to his first four years at Hogwarts, and how he’d felt that same stirring whenever Potter challenged him, snapping back at Draco’s sneers, or rolling his eyes at him.

Draco wanted to clutch on to the feeling and never let it go, its welcome reappearance taking his breath away as he watched Potter. Potter glanced over at him as he laughed, and stopped to smile at Draco when he caught him watching. The smile was small and felt _private_ somehow, despite them being completely surrounded by their peers and teachers in the well-lit room; it felt like the smile was meant for his eyes only. Potter’s cheeks coloured a little and he turned back to his plate, smiling down at it.

/-/

“Come to Hogsmeade with me?”

Draco glanced up from his book to see Potter standing over him, rugged up in a large coat and scarf, a little woollen hat pulled down over his ears.

“What?” Draco asked, having trouble ripping his eyes away from the ghastly hat.

“Hogsmeade. Everyone’s going, so I thought you might like to.”

“I’m alright,” Draco said, a twisting in his gut. He _would_ like to go, but Greg worked every weekend and some evenings when he had an afternoon without classes, leaving him without anyone to go with. He’d go by himself, but he didn’t fancy traversing the isolated path with only people who hated him to watch out for him.

“Come on,” Potter said, nudging Draco’s foot with his shoe.

“I’m busy,” Draco replied, noting his voice didn’t sound all that convincing.

“You’re not. It’ll be fun,” Potter said. “We could go to Greg’s pub and try that bloody dish he keeps raving on about. He’ll love it.”

Draco swallowed heavily, picturing Greg’s excited face when they walked in the door. He also pictured Potter waving goodbye to walk with his friends, leaving Draco surrounded by the wands of the fifth and sixth years who’d tried to hex him the last and only time he’d attempted the journey.

“Come with me, Draco,” Potter said. “Look, we can go anywhere you want to go.”

“Ok,” Draco said softly. He would try for Greg.

“Brill,” Potter said, smiling brightly. “Get your coat.”

Draco did, meeting Potter in the common room before heading outside.

The cold air hit Draco immediately, making him shiver despite his coat and scarf. He pulled out his wand and cast a warming charm over himself, despite knowing it would only hold for a few minutes thanks to his less than capable replacement wand.

Potter chatted as they walked, telling Draco about the latest game of professional Quidditch that had been broadcasted that Draco had missed while attempting to catch up on studying.

Draco had been right; his warming charm didn’t hold, so he recast it. After the fourth time, Potter turned to frown at him as they walked.

“Are your charms not working?”

“I’m fine,” Draco replied, clenching his jaw to hide his chattering teeth.

“You’re not,” Potter said, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder to force him to stop.

“Really it’s—“

“Draco,” Potter said, raising an eyebrow. He pulled his silly woollen hat off his head and put it on Draco’s, pulling it down to cover his ears. He muttered a warming charm and cast it over Draco, his magic making Draco shiver as it brushed over his skin. “Much better,” Potter muttered, smiling softly.

“Red isn’t really my colour,” Draco said after a moment of Potter just _looking_ at him.

“Better than blue, which was the colour your lips were turning,” Potter replied, moving closer to Draco as they resumed walking.

“I look silly,” Draco said, tugging at the side of the hat.

“Then we’ll have to agree to disagree,” Potter replied, smiling at Draco with something Draco could only label as _fondness_. Bloody hell. “Come on, we should pick up the pace if we’re going to get to the pub at a decent hour.”

The pub was exactly the dingy little thing Draco would have expected from Hogsmeade, dimly lit with outdated décor and a cheaply priced menu. What it _did_ have was Greg, who beamed at them when they came through the door. He directed them to a table that he explained was ‘the best’, and practically fell over himself in his attempt to get them menus.

“Told you he’d be ecstatic,” Potter smirked, watching Greg walk off.

“I knew he would be,” Draco said, pulling off his scarf and the woollen hat, pushing them both to the far side of the table. “Thank you, for bringing me here. I probably wouldn’t have come, otherwise.”

“I know. It’s my pleasure,” Potter said. He was watching Draco again with that _look_ on his face. “Your hair’s a bit messy, just so you know.”

“Merlin, don’t remind me,” Draco sighed, reaching up to pat it down into some semblance of order. “That’ll be the silly hat. Besides, you’re not one to talk about messy hair, Harry.”

“I like the hat on you. I think you should wear it more often,” Potter said.

“Stop trying to shove your entire wardrobe onto me,” Draco teased, delighting in the light blush that stained Potter’s cheeks.

“Here’s the menus,” Greg said, rushing up to the table. “I’d recommend—“

“You pick for us,” Potter said, handing back the menus. “Whatever you think is good.”

“Merlin, don’t tell him that,” Draco hissed once Greg had left, a beaming smile stretching across his face. “He’ll pick the most Muggle things on the menu.”

“And we’ll eat them with a smile,” Potter said.

“Speak for yourself,” Draco replied, snorting. Potter laughed, his eyes twinkling. Draco knew they both would.

Greg did indeed pick painfully Muggle things for them to try, but they were actually quite good. Potter seemed particularly enamoured with some chicken with a set of toppings, stealing bits of it off Draco’s plate after they’d split both of the meals in half. Draco scowled at him but pretended not to notice when he swiped the food, gasping comically whenever he noticed a large amount had somehow gone missing. It made Potter smile every time he did it, cheeks darkening slightly as his eyes sparkled in the low light.

Draco didn’t much like the Muggle juice Greg brought them, shoving the sweet liquid at Potter who laughed at him, and drank it himself. When they’d finished, Potter handed Greg the Galleons before Draco could say anything, brushing off Draco’s attempts to pay for his share.

“I invited you out, so it’s my treat,” Potter said, grabbing Draco’s hand when he went for his coin purse in the pocket of his coat. He didn’t let go of Draco’s hand as they walked towards Honeydukes, Potter citing his need for a new flavour of liquorish whips. He only let go when they reached the store, releasing Draco’s so he could walk through the door in front of him.

Draco branched off when Potter went in search of the liquorish whips, heading over the where the Every Flavour Beans were kept. When he’d first come to Honeydukes the wall of beans had fascinated him, and he’d spend hours mixing together his own combinations to snack on in the Slytherin common room. He’d always avoided the colour combinations of the other Hogwarts houses, thinking himself extremely clever whenever he did it.

Draco smiled to himself and grabbed a box, filling it with a few different colours of beans by tapping his wand against the jars.

“What ones are you getting?” Potter asked from behind him.

“The best ones,” Draco replied, sending a smile over his shoulder. “If you’re nice I might let you share some on the walk back.”

Potter scoffed and Draco smiled into his now full box of Beans, closing the lid. Potter was already eating one of his liquorish whips, the bright green of the sweet jarring against the dark colour of his coat. Draco raised his eyebrows at him and Potter wiggled his in return, holding his hand out for the box of Beans.

“You’re not paying for them,” Draco said, holding the box to his chest.

“I just want to look,” Potter said, a smile playing on his lips.

“You paid for the food, you’re not paying for these,” Draco said.

Potter darted forward and grabbed the box, startling Draco enough with his assertiveness that he was able to take it from him easily.

“I’ll meet you outside,” Potter smirked, dashing towards the counter.

“Bloody hell,” Draco muttered, but went to wait outside without protest.

When Potter came out he made a big show of brandishing the bag at Draco, claiming he’d bought Draco a gift. Draco rolled his eyes at him good naturedly and grabbed at the bag, pulling a handful of Beans out of their box. He squawked when Potter grabbed a few out of his palm.

“Hey,” Draco cried, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“Sorry,” Potter said in a voice that sounded decidedly _not_ sorry.

“You’re bloody well not,” Draco replied, quickly tossing the rest of the Beans from his palm into his mouth.

“Not really, no,” Potter said. His hand slipped into Draco’s, squeezing softly. At first Draco thought he might be looking for more Beans, and he went to gloat that he’d eaten all the ones that weren’t in the box, but he turned to see Potter’s face looking so _open_ , and almost a little scared. “Is this ok?” Potter asked softly.

Draco paused for a moment. _Was_ it ok? He didn’t really know. A better question would be, was it not ok? And to that question Draco had an answer. He was definitely sure that it _wasn’t not_ ok, so he supposed that meant that Potter holding his hand was acceptable. Blimey.

Draco nodded, watching him. Potter smiled and launched into a conversation about the meal, comparing it to some of the Muggle food he’d eaten as a child.

He didn’t let go of Draco’s hand all the way back to the castle. Draco found that he definitely didn’t mind.

/-/

Where a few months prior Draco found it near impossible to catch Potter without a groups of his friends around, it now seemed like Potter was always around, perpetually nearby, always shooting smiles and long glances at Draco. If Draco was sitting in his favourite armchair by the fire reading a book, then Harry would be sitting on the rug in front of it, talking with Weasley and Granger. If Draco wanted to catch up on some studying in the library before a test, then Harry would be there tutoring one of the younger studies with his old Defence textbook, notes scribbled all over the margins and between the lines. If Draco decided to go for a walk to clear his head from the overload of sheer _Harry-ness_ , then that’s where he’d be, practicing his dips and dives over the lake on his new broom, dropping so perilously close to the water ever now and again that Draco was a little afraid the giant squid would reach up and grab him, tugging him under the surface.

It was at that point that Draco also realized he’d made the transition from _Potter_ to _Harry_ in his head without him being aware of it. It made him feel a little warm inside, and he laughed at himself for being so bloody soft all of a sudden.

Draco’s sitting by the fire when it happens, on his back on the rug, book held above his face. He’s sure it looks a bit bloody stupid, and he’s a little scared the book will fall on him the moment he relaxes his grip, but it’s comfortable. Harry had come over and said hello to him when he’d arrived back at the common room, before heading over to one of the long tables against the wall to play chess with Weasley. Draco had been minding his own business reading his book, when Harry had decided to plonk himself down next to Draco on his stomach, chin resting on one of his palms.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“It’s a mystery book about a team of Aurors,” Draco said, closing the book and letting it drop onto his chest. “It’s a bit bloody awful, to be honest.”

“But you like it?” Harry asked, smiling slightly.

“I suppose,” Draco replied. “How about you? What are you –“

But Draco was cut off by Harry’s lips suddenly pressed against his, his palm resting against Draco’s cheek. It only lasted for a moment before Harry pulled back, a sickly sweet smile on his face.

“Was that alright?” he asked cheekily.

Draco blinked at him and swallowed heavily, before nodding.

“Good,” Harry said, pressing their lips together again. It lasted a few more moments that time, giving Draco enough time to move one of his hands to Harry’s arm, resting against his warm skin. “I hope you liked that because I plan to keep doing it,” Harry said, pulling back. “Now, tell me more about this awful book.”

Draco launched into a detailed explanation of the plot, leaving room for Harry to ask questions, though he spent most of the time staring at Draco. The feeling of his gaze was even warmer than the firelight Draco had settled next to, Harry’s presence warming him from the inside out.

/-/

The amount of grime covering the Room had drastically thinned since Harry had started helping. With his wand that actually sodding _worked_ , he’d able to Vanish far larger objects than the Room would allow Draco to, leaving him able to spend more time scrubbing than levitating and Vanishing, which got quite exhausting after a while.

Draco had been on his knees scrubbing the floor in the middle of the Room when he’d heard a crash. He’d leapt to his feet and called out Harry’s name, receiving no response.

“Harry!” Draco called again. He frowned and tossed the dirty sponge in the general direction of the bucket, walking in the direction of the fading sound. The Room was far easier to traverse with less objects crowding the cramped space, so Draco found Harry quite easily. He was standing in front of the mirror, an assortment of odds and ends lying at his feet from where he’d dropped them.

“Harry,” Draco said, confused. Harry quickly turned when he heard Draco’s voice, his expression unreadable. “Are you alright?” Draco asked, moving closer. “Did you drop all this?”

“What do you see?” Harry said, pulling Draco in front of the mirror. “Sorry, I just—“

“It’s fine,” Draco said. He glanced into the mirror and was met with the same vision of himself and Harry as he had before. “It’s us, why? Do you see something different?”

“Do we look the same as before?” Harry asked. He was standing off to the side but had hold of one of Draco’s hands, clasping it firmly.

“I think so,” Draco said, frowning into the mirror. “Yes – oh.”

“Oh?”

Draco snorted, smirking in Harry’s direction. “I’m not really sure what it means, but I think you’re going a bit grey.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, a smile spreading across his face.

“Definitely, although it does look quite fetching.” Draco turned to walk away from the mirror, but a flash of movement caught his eye. He turned back to see a small version of him standing in front of him and mirror-Harry. As Draco watched, a small version of Harry materialized next to the tiny-him, a wide grin across his face.

“What do you see now?” Harry asked softly.

“Still us,” Draco said, wanting to reach out and touch the glass, but still a little scared that something untoward might happen. “Only we’re young as well as old. There’s two of each of us.”

Harry’s laugh was loud in the quiet space, but his face was so filled with joy that Draco didn’t chastise him for making him jump.

“Something funny, Potter?” he asked.

“So it’s Potter now?” Harry smirked. “Actually, everything’s perfect. Come here.”

Draco went, allowing Harry to wrap his arms around him and press him against the front of an old wardrobe, and kissing him deeply. When Harry started to press his body against Draco he caught himself, pulling back.

Draco smirked at Harry. “I never knew you had a kink for yourself going grey. I suppose you learn something new every day.”

“Shut up,” Harry laughed, kissing him again. “God, I’m so bloody grateful for this stupid sodding Room.”

“We’ll I’m not,” Draco said, nudging Harry back and brushing down the front of Harry’s old shirt. “I’d be grateful if it let me cast some sodding cleaning spells on it, or wasn’t so ridiculously difficult in the first place.”

“Come on, let’s get back to it,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand again and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Before it gets any ideas.”

“You just use scrubbing the floor as an opportunity to stare at my arse, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, cheeks going red.

Draco winked at him, walking ahead to wiggle his hips, smiling when Harry laughed.

They didn’t get much more of the floor cleaned that afternoon, since Harry had decided that pushing Draco onto his back and snogging him on the floor was a far better use of their time. Draco was inclined to agree, though he did scowl bitchily at Harry when he realised some of the dirty water had gotten on the hair on the back of his head.

“It’s your fault,” Draco scowled, combing his clean fingers through his fringe. “If you couldn’t have bloody waited—“

“Stop frowning and let me spell it clean,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, Draco.”

“Don’t you dare,” Draco hissed, covering his head with his hands. “That’s probably why your hair’s always such a rat’s nest, if you clean it with spells.”

“I don’t, and it’ll just get it clean for the walk back,” Harry said, stepping closer, wand out.

“Absolutely not,” Draco replied. “I’ll wash it in the shower with proper hair potions, _thank you_. Come on, I’ll need to wash it soon so it doesn’t stain.”

Draco muttered about his hair all the way back to the eighth year common room, Harry doing his best not to laugh at Draco’s put out expression the whole way. He didn’t quite succeed, sending him into a fresh round of giggles whenever Draco turned said expression on him with each new wave of frustration.

“Come on,” Draco said once they’d got back to the common room, tugging Harry into the bedroom he shared with Greg. “ _Accio_ hair potion.” A little bottle flew into his hand, and Draco picked up his shower robe.

“Want to have a game of chess after?” Harry asked as Draco pulled him out of the bedroom. “I’m starting to get pretty good at it. Ron says I might actually have a chance at beating you now.”

“Not bloody likely,” Draco snorted. In the bathroom he turned on the water in one of the stalls, placing the potion bottle on the little bench. Harry’s eyes widened when he stripped off his shoes and socks, pulling his shirt over his head and placing them all next to the hair potion.

“Um, so … chess after?” Harry asked, gaze trained on Draco’s bare chest.

“If you want to get stomped into the ground,” Draco replied sweetly.

Harry’s eyes widened comically when Draco started to unbutton his trousers.

“ _Merlin_ … uh … I’ll see you in a bit then,” Harry said. Though his cheeks were bright red he still hadn’t looked away from Draco’s rapidly increasing amount of bare skin.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Draco asked, raising his eyebrows.

“To set up chess?” Harry replied weakly.

“Wrong. You’re washing my hair.”

“I’m _what_?”

“Washing my hair. It’s your fault it’s like this, and I can’t see that part of my head so I might not get it all. Come on, kit off.”

Harry spluttered almost comically, staring at Draco who was stood only in his pants, hands on his hips.

“Come on, Potter,” Draco said, turning away and stepping properly into the cubicle. He heard Harry’s intake of breath when he pulled his pants off and stepped under the warm spray of the shower, letting it run down over his back and buttocks. “Are you coming?” Draco asked over his shoulder.

Harry swore, but quickly pulled off his shirt.

Draco smirked and turned back to face the wall, feeling Harry’s eyes on him as he stripped.

“Merlin,” Harry muttered, his voice suddenly very close behind Draco. Draco waited until Harry’s fingertips were lightly tracing the length of his back, stopping at the swell of his arse before he spoke.

“Get the hair potion, would you,” he asked, running his hands through the strands of his wet hair. Harry pressed the bottle into his hand. Draco handed it back. “I told you, I can’t see where it needs to go.” He turned to glance at Harry, whose eyes drifted down his front, before snapping back up. “See something you like?” Draco smirked, cocking his hip.

“You bloody know I do,” Harry replied, pressing Draco back against the shower wall and kissing him. Draco relaxed into it, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders to hold himself up and widening his legs, giving Harry more room to stand. When Harry started to absentmindedly rock his hips against Draco’s, his hard cock pressing against Draco’s hip, Draco pushed him back with a hand on his chest.

“I mean it, Potter,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I need you to put the potion in my hair or it’ll stain. Can you imagine how stupid a black spot will look right in the centre of my head?” Harry groaned but did as Draco asked, uncapping the bottle and directing Draco to turn around. Draco did, arching his back a little and pushing his hips out to tease Harry.

Harry swore weakly, moving back in close and fitting his hips against Draco’s arse, his cock slipping into the crack. They both moaned, but Draco had the foresight to grab Harry’s wrist.

“The potion,” Draco said, releasing Harry’s wrist when he whined softly.

Draco felt Harry’s fingertips press against his scalp, rubbing into a spot on the back of his head. Draco let out a contented sigh and relaxed a bit, letting his upper body rest its weight against the wall. This had the consequence of pushing his arse out a bit more, and Harry had clearly noticed. As he massaged the hair potion into the spot on the back of Draco’s head, he started to move his hips, grinding his cock against Draco’s wet buttocks.

“Is it almost in?” Draco asked after a few minutes of Harry simultaneously doing what Draco asked, whilst also driving him completely mad.

“I dunno, do you want it to be?” Harry snickered, changing the angle of his fingers to rub against Draco’s scalp.

“Shut up,” Draco laughed, not able to stop the sound from escaping his chest. “But really?”

“Yes, it’s almost in,” Harry said, stepping back. “Rinse it out.”

Draco did, stepping back under the spray and letting the water run through the strands of his hopefully unstained hair.

“Better?” he asked, wiping the rivulets of water off of his face with his hands.

“So much,” Harry said breathily.

Draco blinked the water from his eyelashes and turned around to see Harry’s hand wrapped around his cock, tugging lazily as he watched Draco. Draco reached for him, still watching him touch himself as he stepped towards Draco, back under the warm spray.

“God,” Harry groaned when he let go of his cock, pressing it against Draco’s. Draco grabbed Harry’s arse and forced him to grind against him, Harry walking him backwards a step until Draco was pressed against the shower wall once again. “ _God_ ,” Harry muttered again, yanking Draco’s head up and forcing his lips open with his tongue.

Draco moaned into Harry’s mouth, wrapping a hand around their cocks and tugging. He felt Harry’s knees buckle slightly at the sensation, and he didn’t fare much better himself. Draco whimpered and hooked a leg over Harry’s hip, letting him press their hips together more fully. Draco’s head fell back against the shower wall when Harry ground forward hard, water running down his neck in thick streams. Harry latched on to his neck, sucking deep bruises into the pale skin as he thrust against Draco, their moans and the sound of Draco’s fist working their pricks filling the air.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry muttered against Draco’s neck. “Fuck, Draco, I’m gonna—“

“Merlin, yes,” Draco muttered. “Do it, come on, Potter.”

He squeezed Harry’s prick tightly on the upstroke and Harry started to come, gasping into Draco’s neck as he thrust up into Draco’s fist, streaks of come landing across their stomachs and Draco’s still rapidly working fist.

Harry slid to his knees immediately, and the sight of his prick directly in front of Harry’s face meant that Harry only had to suck his cock for a few seconds before Draco was coming too. Harry pulled Draco’s cock out of his mouth when he started to come, spurting all over Harry’s neck and chest as he knelt before him, Draco muffling his moans in the inside of his forearm.

“At least your hair looks nice now,” Harry said with a cheeky smile, wiping the come off his neck with a finger and sucking it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Draco groaned, his head thumping back against the wall as Harry laughed.

Everyone could clearly tell what they’d been doing when they both walked straight to Harry’s room after their shower, robes matching because Harry had made Draco duplicate his own so that Harry had something to wear on the walk back, thanks to his lack of foresight. Really, what had he expected to happen when Draco brought him into the shower with him? Bloody Potter.

Longbottom snorted when he glanced up at them as they attempted to rush to the dorms without – unsuccessfully – drawing attention, and Finnegan gave Harry a thumbs when he caught his eye, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Draco ignored them, walking straight into Harry’s room and sitting on the bed, thankful Weasley hadn’t decided to return to his room yet.

“Sorry about that,” Harry snorted when he came in, rolling his eyes. “They’re all trolls, clearly.”

“I don’t care,” Draco replied, reclining against Harry’s pillows and watching as Harry sifted through his clothes. He tossed a shirt and some sleep pants to Draco, who raised his eyebrows at him. “I don’t need these.”

“Sleeping naked, are you?” Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows. “Not that I mind, but Ron might. He’d probably wake us up with his screaming, actually.”

“Oh, so I’m sleeping here, am I?”

“You’re the one in my bed,” Harry pointed out, tossing another shirt and pair of pants onto the bed for himself.

“I have my own clothes, thank you,” Draco sniffed. “Nice ones, made from quality material.”

“Yes, but I like you in mine,” Harry said, as if that closed the conversation. It did, a bit, because Draco stood to dress in the clothes Harry offered him.

“Isn’t it a bit early to sleep?” Draco asked, yawning as he did so.

“Who says we’re sleeping yet?” Harry asked, laughing when he saw Draco’s expression. “Not what I meant, though I wouldn’t be opposed. Check my trunk, I got you a present.”

“Is it more Every Flavour Beans?” Draco asked, opening Harry’s trunk. He hoped it was more Every Flavour Beans.

“Nope,” Harry said. Draco could hear fabric rustling behind him, so he assumed Harry was redressing. He shot a glance behind him but Harry had already pulled his sleep pants on, smirking at Draco’s disgruntled expression. He turned back to the trunk, lifting up a Gryffindor scarf to find another of the Auror mystery novels he read and pretended to hate. “It’s supposed to be the next one in the series,” Harry said, coming up behind Draco. “I wasn’t sure if you had it or not.”

“I don’t,” Draco said, taking it out and shutting the trunk. He smiled and kissed Harry softly. “Thank you.”

“It’s more for my benefit, really,” Harry said. “Now that you’ve finished the first one you can read this, and I can start on the other.”

“You really want to read my crap Auror mysteries?” Draco asked, raising his eyebrows. “You do remember me outlining just how bad they are?”

Harry shrugged. “But you like them,” he said in way of explanation.

“ _Accio_ stupid Auror book,” Draco said, smiling when the book whizzed from his room into Harry’s, landing neatly in his outstretched hand. “Here you go.”

They got into bed, lighting the lamp on Harry’s bedside table. Harry leaned against Draco’s arm heavily until Draco finally got the hint, lifting his arm with a huff so that Harry could lean back against his chest as he read, Draco’s arm resting around his waist to hold his own book. Draco seldom read in bed because it made him tired, and he quickly felt his eyes drooping.

“Could we switch,” he asked the next time his eyes fought to slip closed. He felt Harry nod against him and they shuffled around until Draco was leaning against Harry’s chest, Harry’s arm around him and hand under his shirt, pressing against his stomach. With the warm weight of Harry pressing in all around him, Draco quickly felt his eyes slip closed. He let the book drop from his fingers and cuddled against Harry’s chest instead, wrapping his now free arm around Harry’s waist. He felt Harry’s hand start stroking lazily against his stomach as the sound of Harry’s heartbeat against his ear lulled him into sleep.

/-/

“Morning.”

Draco blinked his eyes open slowly, nuzzling his face into the hot expanse of Harry’s body that was partially underneath him. He yawned and pressed his face against what he was pretty sure now was Harry’s chest.

“Oh my god,” Harry muttered when Draco sniffed primly. Draco pried one eye open and glanced up at Harry, who was watching him.

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“You’re far less sarcastic when you’re asleep,” Harry said, a smile playing on his lips. “It’s a nice change.”

“Oh, bugger off,” Draco laughed. He rolled more on top of Harry and braced himself with a forearm on the bed. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Harry said, tilting his chin up for a kiss. “You fell asleep last night.”

“Reading in bed makes me tired. Also, you were warm. And more comfy than you look.”

“Clearly,” Harry smirked. “Although, you’re definitely awake now.” Draco quirked an eyebrow at him, and Harry thrust his hips up, making Draco extremely aware that they were both hard.

“Oh,” Draco said, thrusting down against Harry without thinking.

“Yes, _oh_. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for twenty minutes,” Harry said, spreading his legs more. “It was genuine torture.”

“You could’ve woken me up,” Draco said, moaning when he thrust down.

“I thought you might be a bit bitchy if I did,” Harry said, smiling lopsidedly. “Speaking of.” He reached under his pillow and pulled out his wand, casting a silencing charm over the bed. Someone, possibly Weasley, had closed the curtains around the bed sometime in the night, likely anticipating this very event.

“I might’ve been,” Draco agreed. He slipped his tongue into Harry’s mouth, barely noticing their lack of breath freshening charms. Harry groaned and arched up towards him, knotting his fingers in Draco’s hair and forcing their mouths together more harshly.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered against Draco’s mouth, shoving at Draco’s borrowed sleep pants. Draco kicked them off, sitting up to tug his shirt off with it. “Fuck _yes_.” Harry pulled his own shirt off, dragging Draco back down against him as he whipped it over his head. He moaned when Draco dragged his thumb over one of Harry’s nipples, arching up against him.

“Harry,” Draco moaned when Harry snaked a hand down to wrap around his prick.

“Shit,” Harry groaned, pulling the foreskin up to cover the head. “ _God_.” He pressed his chest hard against Draco’s to force Draco back, kicking off his sleep pants. They both groaned when their bare cocks pressed together, Draco thrusting down at the same time as Harry arched up. Harry widened his legs fully, and wrapped them around Draco’s waist, urging him with his hands on Draco’s arse to thrust firmly against him.

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco muttered against Harry’s mouth, glancing down to see their cocks grinding against each other.

“Fuck, can you … oh god,” Harry groaned, gripping onto Draco’s back.

“What do you need?” Draco asked, sucking a kiss against Harry’s neck. “God, tell me.”

“Fuck, I need _you_ ,” Harry said. “I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, do it,” Draco panted.

“Don’t want to yet. Want you – oh god – want you in me.”

“Harry,” Draco said, pulling back to look at him.

“Fuck, please,” Harry said. “I need it, I need _something_.”

“Are you sure you—“

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry panted. “But we should probably come first or there’s no way I’ll last.”

“Thank Merlin,” Draco gasped, thrusting hard against Harry. Harry reached down to take their cocks in hand, letting Draco fuck into his fist alongside Harry’s cock. They moaned into each other’s mouths when they came, Harry biting down on Draco’s lip hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth.

Draco rolled off of Harry, panting as he lay on his back. “Fuck.”

“Yes, do that,” Harry said, not as out of breath as Draco, evidently. “If you want to, that is.”

“I want to,” Draco said. “But I’m not sure I want to with Weasley in the room.”

“I’ll tell him to fuck off,” Harry said, rolling to his knees and pulling back the curtain without putting his sleep pants back on.

“Harry,” Draco hissed, yanking at the bed curtains so they covered Harry’s groin.

“He’s not even here,” Harry said. “ _Accio_ oil.”

“Merlin, we’re really doing this,” Draco gasped, rolling onto his back. “I’m about to fuck Harry Potter.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Harry laughed. “And we don’t have to, not if you don’t want.”

“I want. I so want.”

“How do you… I mean, you don’t have to be the one, you know, _doing_ the fucking. I’m fine with either way,” Harry said, uncapping the bottle of oil.

“Then I guess we’ll have to try it the other way sometime,” Draco said, taking the bottle from Harry’s hands. “Lay back.”

“Fuck yes,” Harry said, leaning back against the pillows, shoving one under his hips. “Easier access,” he said, when Draco quirked an eyebrow at him. Draco’s breath caught in his throat when Harry widened his legs, pulling one knee up against his chest and putting himself on display. Draco bit his lip and traced a finger around Harry’s hole, poking the tip of one in when the muscles fluttered against him. Harry arched his back and pressed down against Draco’s finger, moving it inside him easily. Draco’s mouth dropped open as he watched his finger slide in and out of Harry, and pressed another in when Harry’s muscles started to loosen. He heard Harry whimper, and he looked up to see Harry fisting his prick, eyes fixed on Draco. Draco thought he probably looked quite daft, mouth hanging open and cheeks flushed from his earlier orgasm as he stared at two of his fingers pushing in and out of Harry’s arsehole, but Harry clearly didn’t seem to mind.

“Can I,” Draco’s breath caught in his throat. “Can I go another?”

“You can go your whole fucking _hand_ if you want to, as long as you keep doing that,” Harry said, arching his back again.

Draco scissored his fingers and slipped a third in, curling them to find Harry’s prostate. He knew he’d found it when Harry let out a choked gasp, his hand squeezing his cock so hard that it looked like it hurt.

“There?” Draco asked, smirking at Harry.

“Don’t look so bloody cocky, you haven’t even put your prick in yet,” Harry said in a snarky tone, but he bit his lip and moaned, so Draco didn’t take it to heart. He pulled his fingers out slowly, watching the way Harry’s body clung to the digits. “Get in me,” Harry commanded, poking at Draco with his foot.

“Bossy.” Draco sat up, smearing oil over his cock. He leaned over Harry, pressing the head of his cock to Harry’s hole, and took a deep breath.

“Not too late to back out now,” Harry said, smirking at Draco.

“Shut up,” Draco said, pushing the head of his cock in. Harry did indeed shut up, his mouth hanging open and his eyes squeezing shut. Draco pushed slowly until he was all the way in, rocking his hips against Harry’s groin. Harry moaned when he shifted his hips, and wrapped his free leg around Draco’s waist, tightening his hold on the one that was pressed against his chest. “Ok?” Draco asked, running his lips over Harry’s jaw, not stopping long enough for it to really be called a kiss. Harry bit his lip and nodded, eyes still closed.

Draco breathed deeply and pulled back, before thrusting all the way back in. Harry’s eyes flew open and he gripped at Draco’s back, gasping when Draco balls met his arse.

“Still ok?” Draco asked, rocking forwards again.

“ _God_ ,” was all Harry said in response, so Draco took that to mean he was probably fine. He adjusted his hips and thrust downwards into Harry’s body, sucking on the underside of his jaw. He started up a rhythm that made Harry’s back arch and his nails squabble on the now damp skin of Draco’s back, likely leaving little red lines over Draco’s shoulder blades. Draco found that he _really_ didn’t mind. Harry was making breathy little noises and his cock was leaking something fierce onto his stomach.

Draco felt his orgasm rising quickly, so he reached down to fist Harry’s cock, jerking it in time with the sharp thrusts of his hips. Harry moaned Draco’s name and bit his lip, watching Draco’s face as he thrust into him. Draco started moving faster, his breathing speeding up as he pushed in and out of the hot clutch of Harry’s body.

“Come on, Draco,” Harry whimpered, his cheeks flushed and lips red and bitten. “ _God_ , come on. Come for me, I want your come inside me.”

“Fuck,” Draco cried, pumping his hips into Harry as he came, pulsing his orgasm inside Harry’s arse. He gasped as he came, tipping his head back. When he caught his breath he looked down to see Harry stroking himself slowly, watching Draco’s face with an expression that looked like fucking _adoration_ , and he came looking at Draco. Draco quickly reached down to help fist Harry’s cock, assisting in milking out the last spurts of his orgasm onto their sweaty skin. He dropped boneless on top of Harry, his cock slipping out of Harry when he moved.

Harry pushed his hair off his sweaty forehead and turned to grin at Draco, glasses fogged and slightly askew. “Good?”

Draco rolled his eyes and kissed him hard, moving their lips together wetly.

“Do we have to get up?” Harry asked a good hour later, lazily patting Draco’s head where it lay on his chest.

“Probably,” Draco said. “If we want to catch breakfast, that is.”

“Mm,” Harry said, combing through Draco’s fringe. “Want to cast the cleaning charms, or should I?”

“I’m having a shower, you absolute cretin,” Draco laughed. “And if you ever want me to have sex with you again, you will too.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Harry laughed, shoving Draco off to grab his sleep pants. “Come on, we’ll have to hurry.”

“Do not get in my shower,” Draco said, eyebrows raised. “We’ll never get there in time if you get in my shower.”

Harry got in his shower, and ended up sucking Draco’s cock for good measure. They were so late to breakfast that there was only toast and a few stray sausages left, and Draco let Harry know a number of times that he was entirely at fault for their predicament.

“I blame you,” Draco said again, frowning at Harry as he took in the meagre breakfast options left available to them.

“If I said I was sorry I’d be lying,” Harry shrugged, sliding onto the bench between Draco and Weasley. Draco smirked when Harry winced as he sat down, getting a fond but exasperated look in return.

Harry grabbed a slice of plain toast and turned to his dorm mate. “Ron, where were you this morning?”

“Were you _really_ expecting me to sleep in there while you … did things I’d rather not talk about, or think about, or _hear_ _ever_ ,” Weasley said. “Goyle, sorry, _Greg_ , said I could sleep in Malf— _Draco’s_ bed so I didn’t have to put up with you two snogging and doing Merlin knows what else all night.”

“That was nice of you, Greg,” Harry said, smiling across the table at Greg.

Greg shrugged. “Harry, you’ve got a bit of a bruise under your jaw. Did you hit it on something?”

Weasley snorted and bit into a sausage, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

“Draco, could you clear that one up for me?” Harry asked, turning to Draco and handing him his wand.

Draco sighed, but did as he asked. When he handed it back he noticed the surrounding conversations had all halted, and he realised that everyone had just seen Harry _hand him his bloody wand_. Christ, he couldn’t have made it more obvious if he’d tried.

“Um,” Draco said, cheeks going bright red.

“Oh, sod it,” Harry muttered and grabbed Draco by the back of the neck, kissing him softly. Draco heard multiple gasps and what could possibly even have been a scream from one of the first year girls, but he found that he didn’t care. He pressed harder against Harry and smiled into the kiss, pulling back once Harry did too.

“Well I think everybody knows now,” Draco whispered, deliberately not glancing around the room.

“Is that ok?” Harry asked. “Sorry, I should have asked you before I did that.”

“It’s ok,” Draco smiled.

“Good,” Harry said, snagging a piece of toast off Draco’s depressingly empty plate. “Because I plan on snogging you for the rest of my life, so everybody else should just get used to it.”

Draco felt his stomach soar, and he knew he probably had a stupidly pleased expression on his face, but he still didn’t bloody care. It lasted for a moment, before the smile fell off Draco’s face. The rest of their lives? It was a little soon for that, in Draco’s opinion. Sure, he _liked_ Potter, but could they really stay together that long? Potter would get absolutely bombarded by letters once everyone outside of Hogwarts got wind that he was dating Draco. Every bad thing Draco had done would get outlined for Potter, and could he really choose Draco at the end of all that, with his flaws so public? Draco wasn’t so sure. The possibility of having Harry forever made him feel all warm inside, but surely Harry didn’t want it enough for it to be a realistic goal. Draco wasn’t sure he could take Harry saying things like that if it was all going to get ripped away from him later on.

After a moment of staring silently at the table, he tapped Harry on the shoulder, Harry pausing his conversation with Weasley to turn towards Draco.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Draco said, keeping his voice low so nobody outside of their small table could hear them. “But isn’t it a bit … well … _soon_ to be talking like that? If you say that and then decide you don’t want to do this anymore than I’ll –“

“I won’t. Decide I don’t want to do this anymore, that is,” Harry said, reaching up to stroke Draco’s cheekbone with his thumb.

“You can’t know that,” Draco whispered, not able to help his face from pushing into Harry’s hand. “You can’t, and if –“

“Oh, but I do,” Harry smiled. “I need to show you something later. Meet me outside the Room after last class, yeah?”

Draco nodded and Harry resumed eating his toast, smiling over at Draco every few seconds. Draco tried not to dwell on the ugly thoughts zooming around the inside of his head.

/-/

Draco doesn’t wear Harry’s ratty old Muggle clothes to the Room that afternoon, not expecting Harry to have anything remotely close to cleaning on his mind. He hadn’t the last few times he’d joined Draco in the Room, preferring to scrub absentmindedly while watching Draco work. Draco would tell him off, but he found he didn’t mind the warm gaze of Harry’s eyes drifting over him, lingering on his arse when he bent over, or on his biceps when he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn patch of floor.

Harry comes in his school robes as Draco expected, sashaying down the hall in bright Gryffindor colours. Before Draco can get out a greeting, Harry pushes him against the wall and kisses him deeply, swiping his tongue into Draco’s mouth. A couple of second year Ravenclaws giggle at them from down the hall, whispering to themselves as they watch, the bloody voyeurs.

“Come on,” Harry said after a moment, reaching into the pocket of Draco’s robes to pull out the key to the Room.

The Room, although infinitely cleaner than when Draco had first started, still felt cold and slightly draining when Draco walked into it, his eyes darting around in the darkness until Harry cast a _Lumos_ , making sure to do it before he allowed to door to close. Draco smiled at him in thanks, taking his hand.

“I wish the Room still worked the same,” Draco smirked. “Then at least we could have another place when Weasley and Greg stop feeling so generous.”

“We’ll think of something,” Harry said, stepping further into the Room. “I hear the showers are always open.”

“Sod,” Draco muttered, squeezing Harry’s hand. “So, what are you showing me?”

“This way,” Harry said, pulling them past the first few rows of large objects that Draco still needed to Vanish, until they were in front of the mirror.

“This again?” Draco asked. “I thought we agreed our magical signatures had somehow harmlessly gotten themselves stuck in the mirror.”

“Not quite,” Harry said, running a hand down the edge of the mirror. “I may not have been entirely truthful when I said I didn’t know what the mirror was, or what it meant.”

“Oh?” Draco asked, glancing at Harry.

“I saw it a few times in my first year,” Harry explained, smiling over at Draco. “It’s called the Mirror of Erised. Dumbledore said it shows a person’s innermost desire.” His eyes met Draco’s, and Draco nearly stopped breathing for a beat. “I’ve always seen the same thing in it; my parents, standing next to me, alive and happy, until you asked me about it this year and I came to see it.”

“Then what did you see?” Draco asked, a little afraid of the answer. He wasn’t sure he could handle it if Harry said something awful, like he saw him back with Weasley’s sister. But Harry didn’t say that.

“I saw you and me. I was pretty sure knew what the mirror was as soon as you mentioned it to me, but I couldn’t be sure until I saw it again. When I looked I didn’t see my parents; I saw us, together, holding hands, like you described. And I was so curious about why the Mirror would be showing me that my innermost desire was us _together_ , but then I spent some time with you, and I realised.”

“What did you realise?” Draco asked, still staring at Harry.

“How brilliant you are,” Harry laughed, reaching a hand out towards Draco. “How much I never saw before because I never took the time to. That doesn’t mean those things wasn’t there before, just that I was too stupid to look for them.”

“You’re not stupid,” Draco said, walking to stand next to Harry.

“Not anymore,” Harry agreed, shaking his head. “Thanks to the Room.”

They stood together, looking into the Mirror. Draco slipped his fingers through Harry’s squeezing tightly. If what both he and Harry wanted most in the world was to be together, to grow old, then Harry was right; Draco didn’t have to worry about opening himself up to Harry. Harry _did_ know that they’d work together, because they both wanted it so much. The backlash would still happen, obviously, but for the first time, Draco knew they could work through it. They both wanted it enough, so they could do it together.

“What do you see now?” Draco asked, leaning a head against Harry’s shoulder.

“Similar to what you said last time; us, older. I’m greying a bit but I don’t think you are, you lucky sod. You thought the children were us last time, right? Like another manifestation of our magical signatures?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, staring into the Mirror. “That’s not what they are though, right? They’re _our_ children.”

“I think so,” Harry nodded. “You said each looked the same as one of us?”

“They do,” Draco said, watching the figures move slightly in the glass, the two boys smirking over at each other every few moments. “One looks like me, the other like you. Both better dressed than you usually are, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry snorted. “Well I see something similar. I see the two little versions of us, but I also see two babies that look like _both_ of us.”

“You see four children in your Mirror?” Draco asked, deadpan. “Potter, I am _not_ chasing around after _four_ bloody children.” As the words fell from his mouth the surface of the Mirror began to sway a little, two babies taking shape in his and Harry’s arms. “Oh, bloody hell,” Draco muttered.

“If you’re that opposed to four, I suppose I shouldn’t tell you what your body looks like.”

“ _No_ , you shouldn’t,” Draco muttered, turning away from the image as the belly of his Mirror-counterpart started to reshape. “Trying to turn us into the bloody _Weasley’s_ , Merlin.”

Harry chuckled and pulled Draco’s body flush against his, fitting their lips together.

“So, let me clarify,” Draco said, nudging Harry back to rest against the wardrobe that stood next to the Mirror. “Your innermost desire isn’t to become some bigshot Auror, or to have some ridiculously pretty witch on your arm at one of the Ministry galas, it’s to grow old and have a bloody Quidditch team full of children with me?”

“Yes,” Harry said, kissing him. “And if I’m not mistaken, yours is too?”

“I’m not having five bloody children,” Draco muttered, biting Harry’s lip and soothing over the mark with his tongue.

“Your mouth says no, but your heart clearly says yes,” Harry smirked, laughing into Draco’s hard kiss. He gripped onto Draco when he aligned their hips, grinding against him. Harry reached into Draco’s robes, opening his trousers and pulling his cock out.

“Think we should do this in front of the Mirror so it’s gets the idea about the number of kids?” Draco asked, opening Harry’s trousers and leaning against him.

“It might conjure more,” Harry laughed. “I’m not opposed to it.”

“You bloody wouldn’t be,” Draco said, his snort of laughter turning into a gasp when Harry tightened his hold around the head of Draco’s cock and twisted on the upstroke. “Merlin, faster.”

“Shit, yeah,” Harry gasped, pushing his hips up into Draco’s fist. Draco came with a groan, getting come all over their school robes. Harry followed him over the edge, gasping into Draco’s open mouth as he stuttered through his orgasm.

Draco turned in the direction of the Mirror, pointing at it and frowning. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Harry laughed and pulled him into a soft kiss. “Merlin, I love you,” he whispered against Draco’s lips. “Thank Godric for this stupid fucking Room.”

“Hey, you’re not the one who still has to finish cleaning it,” Draco teased, closing his trousers before helping Harry with his.

“No, I’m just the one volunteering to help you with it,” Harry said, pushing off the wardrobe and Vanishing their mess. “Should we do some today? We can Vanish objects without getting all dirty.”

“Only if you do most of the Vanishing,” Draco said, moving towards the cavernous space they’d cleared of objects and grime. “Although, we should hurry if we’re going to start practicing.”

“And what, pray tell, are we practicing?”

“We’re going to need lots of practice if we’re going to be eventually making as many children as your innermost desires are asking for. We wouldn’t want to disappoint them now, would we?”

“You’re a menace,” Harry laughed, tugging Draco back against him and kissing him. “Alright, point me in the direction of what you want Vanished first.”

“Let’s start with this side,” Draco said, pushing Harry over to a thinned stack of household items. “Ready?”

Harry nodded, glancing back at Draco.

“Now,” Draco said, watching as Harry Vanished objects as fast as he could. Draco laughed, watching the objects disappear into thin air. Harry smiled back at him and reached his free arm out, reeling Draco in as he casted.

Draco glanced down the aisle and found he could just see the edge of the Mirror, if he craned his neck. As he watched, he could have sworn he saw the image of himself and Harry, older and surrounded by children, appear briefly once again. Draco smiled at it, snuggling in tightly to Harry’s side as he listened to Harry’s happy laughs fill the air as he Vanished the broken objects surrounding them.


End file.
